


Anchor

by s0mmerspr0ssen



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0mmerspr0ssen/pseuds/s0mmerspr0ssen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Episode tag S01E02 --</i> Dorian offers John the relief he's denied himself for too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I needed to get this out my system after watching the first two episodes of _Almost Human_. Let's just say I'm already obsessed and I can see where this is going.
> 
> Heed the warnings and, hopefully, enjoy. ;)

Visiting his partner's family is simultaneously the hardest and easiest thing John has done since waking from the coma.  
  
It's easy because when he sees them, talks to them, realizes how well they've dealt with it in the past 18 months, a weight lifts from his chest that he hasn't even known he was feeling.  
  
It's hard because afterwards, he feels like shit. John knows he has some grade-A triggers and technically shouldn't be on-duty, but Maldonado likes him, wants to give him another chance. And he sure as hell doesn't want to screw it up. Especially not with something as pathetic as a fucking panic attack.  
  
He's fine in the car on his way back to headquarters, but once he's gone inside the building, he disappears into the nearest restroom, locks the stall and indulges in an outright breathing frenzy.  
  
It's how Dorian finds him. John has gotten to terms with having him around, often has a hard time remembering he's an android really, but this is not something he is comfortable showing him. Not that he can do much when he's cowering in a bathroom stall with his head lodged between his knees and his heart going two hundred miles an hour.  
  
"You are feeling ill," Dorian states after casually breaking into the stall. Machines like him have their ways, and a restroom lock is not remotely a challenge. "My readings suggest you're having a trauma-induced panic attack."  
  
John would like to give a snarky reply, but all he manages is a strangled sound at the very back of his throat, then his stomach decides to lurch. Fortunately, he's decided to break down in a restroom and he just manages to crawl over to the toilet before he throws up the coffee and sandwich his ex-partner's wife has served him earlier.  
  
He dry-heaves for a few minutes. When he's finally finished, he slumps back against the wall of the stall. His breathing is still irregular and his heart is going like crazy, but he's stopped sweating and feeling like the walls are closing in, so that's good.  
  
Eventually, he looks up to see Dorian offering him paper towels. "Take these, man," he says.  
  
John doesn't have the energy or focus to make fun of his so-called colloquial speech patterns. He takes the towels with shaky fingers and wipes them over his face, throws them carelessly towards the toilet. Misses.  
  
Dorian steps around him, discards of the towels properly and flushes the toilet.  
  
"Come with me," he says. "You can't stay here, John."  
  
John lets himself be lead because he doesn't know what else to do. Besides, he's pretty sure he's too weak to protest even if he wanted to. Dorian leads him into an empty office somewhere on the ground floor and locks the door behind them. John sinks into the plastic chair standing in a corner and hides his face in his hands.  
  
"I'm a mess," he groans, but his heart no longer feels like it's ready to jump up his throat, so that's an improvement.  
  
"You've been through a lot," Dorian replies, like he knows what it's like.  
  
John wants to tell him emotional scripts implemented in synthetic brains aren't real emotions, that he doesn't know actual empathy, but it's hard. After all, he vividly remembers Dorian looking so very human as he watched the sexdroid go offline for good.  
  
"How'd you know I was in there?" he asks gruffly.  
  
"I keep an eye on you."  
  
He remembers their talk in the car -- Dorian scanning him, down to his testicles, for God's sake -- and, weirdly enough, blushes. He is a fucking mess, that's for sure, if remembering crap like that makes him blush like a school girl.  
  
"Would you like me to inform Captain Maldonado that you require the day off?" Dorian asks.  
  
"Nah," John sighs, running a hand through his hair before sitting up straighter in his chair. He's still not back on track, but he can carry on a conversation now. "Just give me a few more minutes and we can go back up."  
  
"I don't believe that's wise, man."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not your decision to make."  
  
Which is bullshit, and Dorian knows it. The whole reason cops have been paired up with bots is that the androids can keep an eye on the physical and mental state of their human partners, report them if they're slacking or in need of a break.  
  
Luckily, Dorian doesn't seem to care much about what a bot is supposed to do.  
  
"It's not," he agrees. "I'd like to help out, though."  
  
"Help out?" John lets out a dry laugh. "I doubt there's anything you can do to help out."  
  
"I disagree." He steps up to John, his eyes flashing as they run over John's body, gathering data. "I already told you that you're tense. In need of relief. I could provide that. Get you to relax. Feel good, ease up a little."  
  
John is pretty sure his brain is back to firing nonsense at him. "What," he says, roughly shaking his head, "did you just say?"  
  
"I said I could provide relief," Dorian repeats calmly, like he hasn't just offered himself up, like he hasn't copied the sexdroids movements and speech patterns from their earlier case. "I'd like to. You're my partner and I care about you."  
  
The wave of anger hits John unexpectedly. He's risen from the chair before he knows that that's what he wants to do. "You are not my _partner_ ," he spits and launches at Dorian.  
  
True to his android self, he side-steps the attack at super-human speed and catches John by the shoulders, whirling him around like a rag doll and pushing him back into the chair. John's legs are still pretty shaky and even though he'd like to have another go at the bot, there's no way he can get up from the chair and find the energy for another, ultimately futile attack. The rush of anger that has fed his first attempt has gone as fast as it has come, making space for a sense of helplessness and loss.  
  
He curls his hands into fists against the plastic chair's armrests, loosens them again.  
  
Dorian shakes his head. "You're so confused," he points out again. "So tense and conflicted. Please let me help you relax."  
  
A second later, the android is on his knees in front of the chair. There's a moment of utter silence where Dorian simply looks up at John, blue eyes flashing, veins of electricity running over his cheeks.  
  
"Please," he repeats, and John feels any sort of resolve he might have felt leave him at the sight of Dorian looking, for all intents and purposes, eager to please.  
  
He's just so tired, tired of being alone, and his stupid leg, and people dying around him, and not being touched. Maybe Dorian is correct. Maybe he needs this.  
  
"Fine," he croaks and Dorian smiles.  
  
It's almost creepy how human it looks, how well-copied. If there weren't the not-quite-fluid movements, the traces of robot-like precision as he places his right hand against John's fly, John could pretend that Dorian is indeed perfectly human.  
  
The android's fingers work diligently to undo John's button and fly. John mutely helps with getting the pants and underwear out of the way and then, it's his half-hard dick exposed and Dorian's eyes flashing anew as he takes it in. When he finally leans forward to lick at it, John closes his eyes and leans back into the chair.  
  
It's nothing like a human blowjob. First of, Dorian isn't warm like a human, and the bit of wetness his mouth contains is more for reasons of cosmetic accuracy than providing lubrication for digestion and protection for his teeth. But it works, in a weird way, like a dry, cold hand works when you want to jack off really quickly just to get it over with.  
  
Plus, Dorian has the advantage of being able to keep track of all of John's reactions and can adjust the rhythm and pressure accordingly. He adds his fingers to the equation, tracing John's ball, tugging at delicate skin, brushing his own synthetic hide over John's human flesh. His artifical teeth nip ever so slightly at John's foreskin, drawing a whimper from him. Soon, John's cock is fully hard and he's on his way to a quick orgasm.  
  
In the end, it's not the best blowjob John's ever had, probably not even close to his top ten, but he comes in the matter of minutes anyway.  
  
Dorian doesn't swallow, but then, he doesn't have a digestive tract. He spits John's semen into the trashcan resting by the door instead, then returns to John's side by the chair. Meanwhile, John's back to breathing heavily, although for entirely different reasons this time. He feels light-headed and good, shaky but relaxed.  
  
He looks up at Dorian through slightly moist eyes, watching the bot. He's so calm in the face of what they've just done. Like he simply did his duty.  
  
"Thanks," he says, because he doesn't know what else is appropriate at this point.  
  
"It's fine, man," Dorian returns. "Just want you to feel better."  
  
John nods and carefully sets his clothes to rights. When he's finished, Dorian settles a hand on his shoulder. It's not warm like a human's, but the grip is firm, grounding. John closes his eyes again.  
  
"You'll be okay," Dorian says in that calm way of his. "I'll take care of you. We make a good team, you know?"  
  
"Yeah?" John says and leans into the touch. "You really think so?"  
  
"Yes." His hand leaves John's shoulder, brushes up his neck and carefully runs through his hair. "I think so."  
  
It shouldn't feel affectionate, but it does. Maybe this is a bad idea. Scratch that, it _is_ a bad idea. But right now, it makes John feel better. Cherished in a way he hasn't been in a long while.  
  
They don't talk, but Dorian keeps petting John's head until he finds he's ready to leave and accept a new case.


End file.
